


Out of the Woods

by remembertowrite



Series: Tumblr Prompts [3]
Category: The Black Tapes Podcast
Genre: Deleted Scene, Episode Tag: 107 Cabin Fever, F/M, Fluff, Pining, Tumblr Prompt, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 01:53:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6264976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remembertowrite/pseuds/remembertowrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scene of Alex and Strand hiking back from the creepy cabin in episode 107. Based on the Tumblr prompt "The way you said 'I love you' as a thank you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of the Woods

**Author's Note:**

  * For [E_Salvatore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/E_Salvatore/gifts).



> This fic is set during episode 107, Cabin Fever, when Strand and Alex are hiking back from the demon cabin. Based on a Tumblr prompt from [E_Salvatore](http://archiveofourown.org/users/E_Salvatore/): [The way you said "I love you": as a thank you](http://eleanor-3.tumblr.com/post/141086988627/the-way-you-said-i-love-you).

Leave it to Alex to see something as nondescript as light filtering through cracks in a decaying cabin wall and interpret it as a religious symbol. There’s a desperation in her character for existence to make sense, for every coincidence that occurs to have some ethereal meaning. The starkness of scattered points in an ever-expanding, unfathomably massive universe must offend her at her core, reducing her to speechlessness. And he does not know her as a person lacking words.

(The day Alex Reagan loses her voice is the day the world ends. It’s a distressing thought.)

She’s worked herself up into a fit over her ridiculous fear of a devil’s door drawn in a remote cabin by a criminal madman. Outwardly she has boasted her disbelief, but he hears the fright in her stutter-steps as they hike their way back to the main trail. Each time a stick cracks under his foot, he notices her shoulders tensing with the primal urge to flee, out of place in the pleasant (albeit _sweltering_ ) weather and peaceful forest ecosystem that surrounds them.

“Alex,” he says to her back, just a few feet ahead of him. It’s the voice he adopts when speaking to young people simultaneously seduced by and scared of the unknown, warmed with the didacticism of a professor, a tone he’s perfected from teaching his graduate section at U. Washington.

(He still has six research papers to grade, but he’s chosen instead to disregard his work and accompany Alex on her search for answers. He’s in it for that moment when revelation dawns across her face, her brown eyes expanding and her lips parting to bear her teeth in that rapacious smile that shouts “I’ve uncovered a scoop!” It’s in those moments that he likes her best; there’s something infectious about her straightforward eagerness.)

Alex stops in her tracks and turns her head back. She’s traded her zeal for unlearned panic.

“You know, upon further reflection, I don’t think the sunlight really formed a cross,” he tells her.

She cocks her head like a dog wondering if its master will throw the ball again in a game of fetch. His voice seems to have calmed some of her skittishness.

“That cabin must’ve been there for years. Decay is inevitable. Besides, the light struck other portions of the floor as well. Simon Reese put the idea of a church in your head, and you put it in mine, so we were both looking for it.”

She chuckles to herself, and he finds himself immediately irritated at her private joke.

“What?” he questions, an edge in his tone.

“Well,” she laughs again, in that pleasing musical lilt that’s particularly grating when it’s at his expense, “You’re admitting apophenia affected _you_ as well.”

He exhales his amusement, tension falling from his shoulders. He begrudges Alex her keenness.

“To the uninformed believer of sacred geometry, of course it would look like a cross. It’s nothing quite so demonic, I’m afraid.”

She has a hand up to her mouth to stifle her ridiculous giggles, but soon she’s doubled over.

“Thank you, I love you for this,” she chokes out between guffaws. Her words splatter over his chest like crushed eggs, wet and cool and sticky. The paper-thin eggshells scratch at his heart.

He flashes her a wry grin (it’s the best he can do), and motions her forward with his hand.

“Let’s get going.”

She nods and starts back on the trail, crunching leaves with her footfalls. His eyes trace her body, her sweat-coated neck and the exposed skin above her waistband, and he lets his mind wander.

(They reach the end of the trail and Alex drives the half hour back to the motel, but he’s not out of the woods quite yet.)


End file.
